


Can We Be Friends, Sweetly?

by CranberryBridge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Atypical Happy Ending, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Ghibli Films Are A Valid Coping Mechanism, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Has A Cane, Jon's Trans, Multi, Other, Tim Is Bisexual and Doesn't Understand DVD Players, again i dont make the rules, canon-typical self loathing, i don't make the rules i just enforce them, mild eating disorder tw, some actual communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CranberryBridge/pseuds/CranberryBridge
Summary: “You alright?” Martin was in front of him now. He must have zoned out. Jon thought that he’d responded… Maybe he hadn’t… He could have sworn he told him he was fine to try to placate him and shoo him away like a persistent dog…“Oh— Uh…” Jon said, eloquently.“...We were all going to head out for dinner, and I don’t think I saw you eat anything all day. Or, er— come out of your office at all,” Martin said sheepishly. “We could make it a bit of a— what did Elias call it—? Make it a “team building” thing? It would be great if you could come.”Jon stared at Martin for a moment, or maybe two moments, judging by how Martin shifted and cleared his throat. Maybe it was two moments too many, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want—”////ORThe season one crew go out for dinner, and for once, Jon feels like he's not completely alone.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker (implied)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 248





	Can We Be Friends, Sweetly?

The soft, muffled pattern of heavy rain was faintly audible from somewhere far above the cramped office, stuffed full with boxes of files. If Jon was being fully honest with himself, he had no idea why Elias thought him capable enough to be Head Archivist. He hadn’t ever worked in the Archives before, and frankly had little to no experience with any of this…  
  
In the back of his mind, he heard the whispers of doubt, soft, hateful voices. The far more pessimistic version of himself in his head droned on and on. Which was strange, considering that the entire personality he tried so hard to maintain now was his idea of professionalism. Professionalism to him, was, at its core, pessimism veiled as sternness. This hateful version of this that resided in the back of his mind… it was what kept him up at night, why he stayed at work so late. He shouldn’t have been here, it told him, he wasn’t worthy of any sort of promotion like this, shouldn’t have the power to fire people or be in charge of such a difficult project… 

Just a few hours earlier, he’d heard Tim’s angry voice through several layers of old stone walls and wooden doors. He was ranting about something, and though Jon couldn’t exactly hear all of it, he got the general impression that Tim was also very much doubting his abilities in this new position. Had Tim wanted the job? Or was he talking about it with someone else that worked here in the Archives? Had Sasha or Martin wanted it? Tim was rarely angry for himself, but often indignant on behalf of others, white-knighting the meek and voiceless.

A brief knock on the door could be heard before it opened. A soft voice resonated through the office, cutting through the swirling dust in the air, “Jon? You’re still here?”

  
Martin. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Martin now. At first, he’d hated him, blamed him for all the terrible organization and the sheer workload he now had to cope with. But now, he supposed he was more…neutral? God, Martin probably hated him for how rude he’d been towards him for the first few weeks, and he didn’t blame him, he—

  
“You alright?” Martin was in front of him now. He must have zoned out. Jon thought that he’d responded… Maybe he hadn’t… He could have sworn he told him he was fine as to try to placate him and shoo him away like a persistent dog…

  
“Oh— Uh…” Jon said, eloquently.

  
“...We were all going to head out for dinner, and I don’t think I saw you eat anything all day. Or, er— come out of your office at all,” Martin said sheepishly. “We could make it a bit of a— what did Elias call it—? Make it a “team building” thing? It would be great if you could come.”  
Jon stared at Martin for a moment, or maybe two moments, judging by how Martin shifted and cleared his throat. Maybe it was two moments too many, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want—”

“No, I’ll come with,” Jon said quickly, cutting Martin off. In doing so, he abruptly managed to process exactly what he had agreed to. “Actually, I don’t— well, I suppose— what time will you be leaving?”

  
“Oh, uh—” Martin peered up at the clock that hung above one of the shelves, “Twenty minutes or so? We can wait a bit longer if that’s what you need—”  
  
“No! No, that’s fine for me…” Jon leaned back in his seat to grab the cane propped against the wall, “I’ll— I’ll meet you upstairs when I’ve wrapped up, then? Who all is coming along?” He asked as he rose up into a stand.

“I think it was just meant to be us? You know, the uh, _Archives crew,_ ” Martin chuckled awkwardly. “Tim always calls us that, he’s put me into the habit of it, I guess. Sorry.”

  
Jon blinked, “Well, I... Never heard him call us that, but I suppose I’ll take your word for it…”

  
“Yeah— Uh, I’ll get going—” Martin muttered as he quickly found his way out the door.

  
Jon sighed out as he watched the door close behind Martin. He felt sort of guilty. Had he intimidated the other? He didn’t think he was all that… Imposing, really. He wasn’t tall or anything, hell, he’d been sitting down almost the whole conversation…

  
Well, he’d better start picking up if he actually wanted to go with them…

* * *

  
  


“You actually got him to agree to come with us?” Sasha’s voice could be heard all the way from the stairwell, “I didn’t…”  
“What, you didn’t think he actually came out of the office?” Tim snorted softly, his voice grew fainter and fainter as footsteps led away down another hall. 

“To be fair, we don’t ever see him go out. I’ve only ever seen him go in. Or I hear him talking when Martin’s bringing him tea.” Sasha called after Tim as he, presumably, walked off. As Jon shouldered open the heavy door to the stairwell and listened to the distant speaking down the hall, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how they frequently spoke of him. Jon wasn’t often the type to give into his insecurities, or acknowledge he had any, but it did bother him a bit. Did they say unsavory things about him all the time, treat him and his (rather admittedly) blunt personality like a joke? God, he hoped not.

  
Sasha heard him coming down the hall immediately, able to recognize the tapping of his cane on linoleum. He was quickly met with the sight of her hurrying over to the doorway to meet him, offering him a smile as she called out, “Jon—! Hey, you want to walk with us—?”

  
“Oh— Does Tim know that I’ll be…” Jon started, before deciding it was a stupid question. Tim must have known, they were just talking about him. Tim probably suggested it…  
“Jon?” Sasha called, “You alright?”

  
“Hm—? Oh, yes. I’m… Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded quickly, “So, uh… Where are we going to eat?”

  
“The Indian place down the block. Figured we’d all probably like that, you know? Martin suggested it, he'd said he’d gone there a few times after work.”

  
Jon had began to open his mouth to speak, right when Tim hurried back down the other hall, his coat slung over his shoulder. Martin was short in tow behind him, “Alright! Are we all here? All set to go?” Tim asked, looking between Jon, Sasha, and Martin. Jon chose to ignore that the question was mostly directed at him.

  
Jon nodded, “Yes— Yes, let’s go before it gets any darker outside.”

* * *

The walk to the restaurant was short and sweet; only ten minutes or so, the four of them making idle conversation the whole way. Jon couldn’t even really remember what they talked about, probably menial little things about the days they’d had… 

As they walked, Jon couldn’t help but notice Martin slowing his pace to walk beside him, even as Tim and Sasha strolled ahead. While listening to the conversation going on ahead of them Jon realized that Martin must’ve been keeping pace with him so he wouldn’t be left behind. His coworker didn’t comment on how Jon gravitated closer towards him once he seemed to realize what he was doing.

  
As they rounded the block to the bistro, Martin started to walk a little bit ahead of him. When they made it to the door, Tim pulled the handle, holding it for Sasha, before Martin took it and held for Jon. Murmuring a soft thanks, Jon drifted past Martin and behind the other two.

The restaurant itself was a bit crowded, but Sasha just barely managed to get them the last four-seater booth. Once more, they all seemed to go into their own groups. Sasha sat with Tim, and Jon sat with Martin. He suspected it was because Tim and Sasha might have had a bit of a _thing_.

  
Sasha looked to Jon, “You know, we didn’t think you’d actually come along with us. Thought you’d find some kind of excuse to get out of it.” The _“you know, like you usually do”_ was left unsaid.

  
Jon breathed out, “Yeah— Thought I’d finally agree to something for once, I guess.”

  
Martin bleared at him for a moment, “I had to lure you with the prospect of food before anything clicked in your head and you agreed.” 

“I wasn’t _lured,_ ” Jon responded indignantly, “I consented politely to a friendly social gathering with my coworkers to work towards the mutual goal of team building!”

  
“Oh, sure, yeah. It’s not because you’re a total workaholic who sits in his office all day without lunch or a snack.” Tim stared at him, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“I eat… At home,” Jon said, mildly uncomfortable. “Anyway, it’s not any of your business, is it?” 

“It is, a bit. I mean, I work for you—” Tim started.

  
“Tim, you don’t even think I should have this job, I highly doubt you care about my eating habits,” Jon snapped. He regretted it instantly when he saw the awkward exchange of glances between his three assistants. 

“You… heard that?” Sasha asked softly.

  
“I… Well, he wasn’t exactly quiet about it, sounded like he was yelling…” Jon muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Martin tried to placate him with a hand on his shoulder, but only had it shoved away. 

“Jon—” Tim sighed out deeply, “God, no, that wasn’t about you, it was about… It was more about Elias. You didn’t even know Sasha until you came to work down here…”

  
“What? How was it about Elias—?” Jon blinked. Why wouldn’t Tim be angry at him? He deserved it, didn’t he? He’d stolen the position, he’d unfairly taken Sasha’s place. Tim should be blaming him and he… wasn’t? This was… Jon wasn’t even sure how to react.

  
“Well, I was talking to Sasha— She… She wanted the job, I… I figured the only reason she didn’t get it was… Well, Elias seems a bit… Er…” Tim tried to explain, “It’s not about you, Jon, I’m not angry with you.”

Martin looked up as Jon sat there in stunned silence, “It was just a misunderstanding, none of us have to be upset, alright?” He breathed out, “Now, the waitress is coming… Do you all just want me to tell her we’ll… Be a few minutes?”

  
Sasha nodded, “I think that’d be best…”

  
“So, uh… Walls don’t muffle yelling as much as I hoped they did…” Tim murmured as Martin spoke to the waitress.

Jon’s head was down, his gaze focused in his lap to escape any chance of making eye contact with the others. He was so stupid, he shouldn’t have let himself agree to this, shouldn’t have assumed he deserved to go out with these people and eat. He’d just upset them, ruined their time together, when they could’ve been so much happier without him. That was all he ever did, wasn’t it? He upset people, he hurt them, he was a bother and a mess, and that was his purpose in life. For people to hate him...

“...Jon? Jon, are you listening?” Sasha’s voice was soft.

  
Jon looked up, finally, “Wh— Of course I am—” He hadn’t, but it didn’t seem the time to mention that. 

“Alright,” Martin said softly, soothingly. “Should we order now?”

  
It took Jon a brief moment before he realized that they were waiting on him to answer. “Oh, yes, of course, whatever’s best for everyone,” he said, the rush of words stumbling out of him. 

They ordered their various dishes, and Jon, having had little time to see the menu, blanked and ordered the first thing he’d seen. Which was, somewhat awkwardly, the cucumber salad. 

“Is that it?” Tim said abruptly, once the server had left with their orders.

  
“Didn’t we just have the conversation about not judging my eating habits?” Jon asked tiredly, too frazzled to put any bite into his words. 

Martin nodded furiously. “Right, right, you did say that, sorry Jon. We’ll stop, right Tim?”

  
Tim looked as though he was actively biting back another snarky comment, but managed to hold his tongue. Sasha, on the other hand, was sitting beside him looking like she wanted to interject, but didn’t know how.

  
They made awkward small talk for the next few minutes, far more stilted than the conversations they’d been wrapped up in on the walk here. Martin spoke like he always did, jittery and nervous, stumbling over his words and occasionally gesturing widely and knocking into Jon’s side. But Tim and Sasha were far from their usual talkative selves, Tim’s jokes falling flat and Sasha’s responses just a little off, too quick or too late.

  
Tim was staring at his lap, and Jon took notice of it, “Tim? Something wrong?” He asked, after a moment of debate on if it was alright for him to do so.

  
Tim breathed out, “ Yeah, yeah, just… Typing, you know.”

  
“...Are you two texting each other?” Jon asked again. 

Oh, god, they were talking about him, they _must_ have been. They were texting under the table about how uptight and prickly he was when spoken to, how unattentive he was to their conversation. He was a horrid dinner guest, Jon knew it all too well. They’d be talking about this for months, them and Martin. 

Even Martin would stop being friendly to him. Which he did deserve, after treating the man like a buffoon for weeks, but they’d just been getting on better terms, and now _this—_

Jon would have to sit in his office and hide out for eight hours while his stomach growled and listen to Tim calling him an annoying, blunt little weasel of a man from all the way across the archives, through the thick walls and doors. He’d never be invited to anything again, and that hurt even if he didn’t think he deserved it in the first place. 

“Jon—?” Martin called softly from beside him.

  
Jon looked up. He didn’t realize that he’d zoned out again, staring down at the table, “...I— I’m sorry,” he muttered. Grabbing his cane from where it was leaned against the edge of the booth, he pushed himself to a stand. From his back pocket, he dug out a £5 note from his wallet and set it on the edge of the table.

  
“Jon—” Martin called again, starting to stand as well, “You don’t have to _leave_ —”

But Jon was already halfway out the door, the tapping of his cane changing from the click of tile to the blunt tapping of concrete as he hobbled onto the pavement. Sasha watched him go, eyes wide with concern. “One of us should go—” she started, but was cut off by Martin.

  
“I’m already up, I’ll go after him,” he said, heading towards the exit. “I’ll call you two later, alright?”

* * *

Martin caught up with Jon at the end of the street. 

“Jon, er, hey— It’s alright, you know— Uh…” Martin pursed his lips, obviously biting back more jumbled attempts to console him. He trailed off as he walked in front of Jon, able to see his expression. “Are you—”

Jon ducked his head. His eyes were watering and he knew it well. Typically, he had the energy to blink back tears and ignore the thoughts swirling his head, but it was just… It was so late, and he was _so_ tired. “Do you want to...” Martin’s voice broke, and he tried again. "Do you want to come back to my flat for a bit and calm down? There's a tube station about a block away, and it'll take us pretty close without any transfers, and I just thought that would be easier, especially since I don't think you come here often and it might be a lot of pressure to figure out which route to take right now. You don’t have to, or anything, it’s just an offer— because I thought, well, I live close by, and I don’t think you want to travel home alone in this state, not saying you’re in a state or anything, I just—"

Jon was quiet for a few seconds as he tried to gather himself, his voice shaky when he finally did respond, “...Alright.”

  
“And like— alright?” Martin said in obvious confusion. “You mean— you’ll come? Like, you’ll take a break?”

  
“I— yes, if you’re offering. I think I could…” Jon forced a half smile onto his face. “I think I could rather use a break, to no one’s surprise.” 

Martin tried to offer him a reassuring smile though looking back on it, it might have been more of a concerned look thinly veiled with a grimace. “...Well, come on, then…” Martin said softly, moving to gently place a hand on his shoulder once more.

  
Jon didn’t push it away this time.  
  


* * *

Jon sat down with relief in one of the chairs, while Martin dithered between sitting and standing, eventually choosing to grab the overhead handle just as the train began to move. He offered Jon a sheepish grin as he swayed lightly with the momentum of the train. 

At the next station, Jon patted the seat next to him, and with a quick smile and blush, Martin took it. He was warm, his arm eventually slinging over to become a constant pressure on Jon's shoulder again. It was reassuring, Jon thought for a moment. He didn’t mind the feeling, nor did he comment on it.  
About thirty minutes later, they finally arrived at the tall residential building Martin’s flat must have been in, and Jon prayed that there was a lift, he did _not_ want to walk up a couple dozen flights of stairs in the slightest. Thankfully, Martin seemed to pick up on this worry. After all, Jon had sighed out deeply when he saw the sheer height of the building.

  
“It’s on the second floor— There’s a lift just round the corner when you walk in.” He provided softly.

  
Jon nodded, “Well… Uh, lead the way…”  
  


Martin set his keys on top of a desk near the door as he walked in. As Jon stood awkwardly aside, he watched Martin go to close it, carefully twisting the knob so that it slid shut silently. Another nervous tic, he presumed. Jon had done the same when he was younger and living with his grandmother. Looking around the small room, Jon noted the bed on the left, with a thick curtain that might've blocked off a kitchen or something similar. 

Martin gave him a small smile, he led Jon past the desk, and over to the sofa that was sandwiched between the wall to the bathroom and the curtain. Jon could now see that the curtain did indeed separate the kitchenette from the bed.

  
Martin looked towards him, "Want to sit down?" 

"...That would be nice, thank you," Jon said, following him and settling onto the couch. There was a slightly cracked television against the wall, and an absurd amount of takeout and microwaveable meal debris on the kitchen table, which Martin quickly blocked Jon’s view of as he shoved all of it into the garbage with an embarrassed grimace. Jon couldn’t really judge, it wasn’t like his flat was perfectly clean either.

  
Martin drew in a breath. “Alright, well, I’m going to… going to phone Tim and Sasha, tell them you’re alright…” he said as he stepped aside, back over to the front door. He walked out and shut it behind him once more. Jon saw him take his cell out of his back pocket just before the door blocked his view.

  
Jon didn’t hear much of the conversation aside from Martin’s initial greeting. Martin stayed outside for a while longer than what Jon would consider the normal length for a phone call, but then again, he had never been one for social calls, or any calls at all. Minutes passed and Jon’s stomach growled as he waited. He ignored the sound as usual, though it was more difficult than usual. He would’ve typically eaten dinner by now. 

It was only when he heard a pair of footsteps rushing down the hall that he realized that Martin was waiting for Tim and Sasha to arrive in the hallway. Martin had stood out in the hall to make it easier for them to spot the door to his flat, on the phone to give them directions as they got off the tube.

  
Jon did _not_ want to be confronted— They’d probably be upset with him, leaving so quickly. Had he even given them enough for that salad? Should he have left a £10 note instead? He didn’t know. Why did they have to come to check on him? Couldn’t they have just accepted the phone call and gone home? Why did everything have to be such an event?

  
Jon shrank down into the cushion he sat on, sighing out as he waited to be… well, he expected to be yelled at, in all honesty. They’d berate him for ruining their dinner, for not paying enough, for scaring them, or causing a scene. He always did this, he always did…

  
Slowly, the door opened, and Sasha stepped in. “Jon? You alright? We were worried when you ran off like that… Uh… Tim packed up some leftovers, if you want any. Could probably…” she trailed off, peering into the little kitchenette, “Could probably warm it up in that little toaster oven?”

“...No, but…” Jon started, he trailed off when Sasha’s expression shifted to worry, just as it had when he’d ordered that salad, “...Thank you, I’m alright, really. It’s all just…” He averted his gaze over to the window across from the sofa.

  
“Overwhelming? Everything just... piled up…?” Sasha tried to supplement his sentence as she moved to take a seat next to him.

  
Jon sighed out, nodding, “I… That’s the best way I could think to explain it, yeah…”

Finally, Tim and Martin returned to the flat, Tim carrying a plastic bag with some to-go containers inside. “So. Since we’re eating here, uh… Martin, where’s your remote?”

  
Martin stared at the TV for a moment, before looking back over at Tim. “…Er, you’ve got to use the buttons on the side, give me a second— actually, here, I’ll just…” Martin shuffled past the couch, leaning over to grab a case of blu-rays. “Pick something out, I’ll warm all this up.” He said. He took the plastic baggie of to-go boxes from Tim, shoving the blu-ray case into his hand to replace it.

  
Tim began to flip through the case shortly after finding a seat on the sofa between Sasha and Jon. Sasha leaned over his shoulder to get a look at what their options were, occasionally muttering for him to flip back so she could read some of the hand scrawled titles.

  
Tim paused on something as they looked through the case. “...Huh. He’s got all the Shr—”

  
“We are not binging all the Shrek movies, so God help me—” Jon pulled the case away from him, thumbing through it for a moment. “Though, I’m not opposed to something animated…” He mumbled.

  
“Oh—! Flip back a few!” Sasha snatched the case from him, rifling through it before producing two blu-rays, Ponyo and Howl’s Moving Castle. “Have you seen these before? I loved them when I saw them for the first time…” 

“Heard of them, never actually got around to seeing them, I don’t think…” Jon muttered.

  
Tim on the other hand, snatched the blu-rays right up, stepping over to the player sat on the shelf of the TV stand and beginning to prod at the various buttons. It had to work eventually...

  
“Guess we’re watching them either way...” Jon mumbled. They looked intriguing enough, and he was honestly too exhausted to protest, or give an opinion.

  
“You’ll love it, really. All the movies that Studio Ghibli makes— They’re adorable.” Sasha hummed.

  
As Martin took the last to-go box out of the microwave, he sighed. God, he’d really have a lot of dishes to do after this. Did he even have more than two plates? He could have sworn he’d seen some in the cupboard under the sink... He’d have to check.

  
“Tim, that’s the pause button…” Jon mumbled as he finally got up off the sofa to step over to the blu-ray player, “Look—”

  
Jon pressed the eject button, and the disc tray finally popped out. He took one of the discs— Howl’s Moving Castle— from off the top of the blu-ray player where Tim had set them down while he tried to figure out how to open it.

Tim retreated from the DVR, grumbling under his breath about just needing a bit of time to remember how to play the movie, just as Martin finally began to set their plates on the coffee table. They were mismatched from all different dinner sets, but it was good enough, wasn’t it? In all honesty, these plates were probably from his relatives, and he’d just… never returned them.

“Er, the sofa’s a bit small, I don’t know if we’ll all fit—” Martin started, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I can drag a couple chairs over, if you’d like?”

Sasha waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, I prefer to sit on the floor, thanks anyway, Martin!”

  
“I could grab you a pillow or something to sit on?” Martin tried to compromise.

  
“I would take a blanket, if you have that!” Sasha said brightly, moving to sprawl out beside the coffee table. “Come on guys, sit down. Jon, do you want to see if you can get the movie started? I don’t trust Tim with that at all.”

Tim mock-scowled at her. “Rude, Sash, just plain _rude._ I can work a blu-ray player!” He scoffed.

While Tim and Sasha bickered playfully, Jon pressed the buttons along the side of the DVR, navigating the menu with relative ease. Their conversation and teasing name-calling washed over him, and Jon found himself instinctively relaxing. It was almost like it had been back in the research department, with their casual banter flooding his senses while he worked quietly. Sometimes they’d involved him, other times he’d just listened, but it had been nice, to have friends. 

Martin returned with the blanket, and a pillow that he offered to Sasha. “Here, I hope this is alright? If it’s not, we can trade, it’s no issue—”

“Relax, I’ll be fine. Really, thank you so much, Martin.” 

Deftly, Sasha folded the blanket into a sort of soft mat to sit on, and leaned against the side of the sofa where Tim sat, legs curled in a confusingly uncomfortable looking position. As she grabbed the pillow from the ground beside her and hugged it to her chest, the soft music of Howl’s Moving Castle’s introduction began.

  
Jon straightened up, having grabbed onto the TV stand as he pushed himself upright, “Is there room for me, or am I sitting on the floor with Sasha?” He asked as he looked back at the other three.

  
Tim promptly made enough room for both Jon and Martin, “Room enough as long as one of you doesn’t mind being sandwiched between two other people.” He shrugged, “Martin, you have any more blankets? Push comes to shove, we’ll make a fort—”

  
“We don’t need to make a fort, Tim,” Jon scoffed, in a joking sort of way. “But Martin— do you have any more blankets?”

“Right, I should have—” Martin said, turning around to head back to his closet.

As the movie began, Jon found himself curling further into the couch, pressing against the worn fabric for any scrap of warmth. Martin returned, a small bundle of blankets in his arms. 

“So, I found— er— two blankets? That’s not enough for all of us, but you can have one, and Tim, and that’s fine because I’m not very cold anyways.” 

Jon shook his head, too tired to care but not wanting to be rude. “We can share, it’s fine.”

“Oh! Oh, al— alright, alright, okay,” Martin said. He tossed one blanket at Tim, who caught it easily and unfolded it to drape it over himself... and Sasha’s head. 

“Tim—! You bastard, get your blanket out my face!” Sasha whined, slapping at his leg. 

Martin sat down gingerly on the far end of the sofa, carefully unfolding the wooly blanket to cover mostly Jon and half of his own leg. 

The movie was one that Martin had watched many times before, having sought comfort from it not too long ago, and he was glad that Sasha had also enjoyed it, and was now introducing it to Tim and Jon. As always, Tim was cracking jokes and having a grand time, but Jon… he looked at peace, more so than Martin had ever seen him, with a soft smile as his eyes flickered from the screen to Tim and Sasha to brief, tingly moments of eye contact with Martin. 

At last, Martin allowed his posture to relax a little, and scooched closer to Jon, pulling a little more of the blanket onto himself. Their legs brushed, and to his surprise, Jon let out a little sigh of comfort and pressed closer to Martin. Jon seemed to be growing more and more tired as the movie went on, and his eyes were already half lidded, fluttering shut only to blink open again blearily. 

Under the guise of wrapping the blanket more securely around Jon, Martin wrapped an arm lightly around his middle. The warmth of being so close to someone was intoxicating, and Jon found that he didn’t quite mind this, being held gently by another.

  
The orchestral outro music in the background started to fade as Jon leaned a bit more heavily into Martin’s side, his eyes slipping shut.  
  


As he fell asleep, Jonathan Sims knew that he would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> lol no he wont
> 
> pls comment so i can have serotonin please i am severely lacking--


End file.
